In a flippant succession of sinister sermons, wZ offers the unsuspecting
listener an aural challenge of cosmic proportion. The sound is intimate
and chamber-like. The spoken word, while less than original at times,
commands enough attention with its raw verbosity and rumbling lyricism.
The twining and tweening flute variations pick up ethnic momentum from
the percussion undercurrent and provide a fitting backdrop for the rolling
voice.
While often failing to sustain the same level of poetic intensity,
wZ's musical project easily culminates in the song named "Cybrg Cty,"
with uncanny guitar textures that lend density and spaciousness to the
gritty, industrial sound. If ever the Kalahari has bordered a throbbing,
steel-clad metropolis of blade-runners and data-divers, the scorched borderline
perimeter would be the precise place where "Cybrg Cty" unfolds
and lets down its cybernetic roots - partly organic, partly cybernetic,
partly dream.